No Surrender
by Self-Inflicted Insanity
Summary: Yuri had never had anyone want to be friends with him before Otabek had asked him, bluntly and unflinchingly, "Are you going to become friends with me or not?" And Yuri, impressed by the guy's audacity, had found himself saying, "Yeah, I'll become your friend."


**AN:** This story assumes that the reader has read the short _Yuri On Ice_ "Welcome to the Madness" manga about Yurio's exhibition skate. (If you haven't read it yet but want to, Abbadon of Edom on YouTube was awesome enough to upload the pages into a YouTube vid under the title 'Welcome to the Madness(English Manga - Yuri on ice)'

Wrote this as a holiday present for my lovely sister, who asked for Yurio/Otabek... last December. This fic kind of took me an entire year to get right.

* * *

 **No Surrender**

* * *

"I've always thought we were alike."

The sun was setting, dusting everything in a layer of brass the impatient breeze could do nothing to brush away, and when Otabek turned to Yuri his eyes were bronze and brazen.

"That's all. Are you going to become friends with me or not?"

Otabek's dark hair was being whipped wildly by the wind, but his expression was serene, holding neither fear nor hope nor expectation, just a straightforward request for clarification.

And it was perhaps because he felt that it would have been just as okay for him to turn down the offer of friendship that Yuri accepted it, sticking out his hand and saying determinedly, "Yeah, I'll become your friend."

Otabek smiled more with his eyes than with his mouth, and the feelings visible there were not relieved, merely restful and pleased, and Yuri felt himself smile as they firmly shook hands.

When they let go and stepped back, Yuri suddenly felt for a moment at a loss. Otabek looked at the sunset again, the rays gilding him from head to toe, and behind him the far edges of the sky were beginning to darken.

Something flipped in Yuri's chest, like a switch; he didn't want to go back to the hotel yet.

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and when he spoke there was a determined edge to his voice. "Hey, so now that we're friends and everything, take me out someplace. Like to get tea or something."

Otabek turned to look at him, and while anyone else might have been taken aback by the harshness with which Yuri had made the request, Otabek was just as relaxed as ever.

"Sure." Otabek smiled. "I know a good place."

Yuri blinked, and after a moment he found that he was smiling again, too.

 _This is new,_ he thought, as Otabek turned away from the sunset and began walking towards the stairs that led down from the roof. _But it's not bad._

Otabek was still walking and Yuri jogged over and fell into step beside him.

 **XXX**

Yuri practically fled after the award ceremony, forcing the gold medal on his coach and then racing through the halls in black and magenta.

"Yuri!" Yakov called after him.

Yuri grit his teeth and ignored him, whirled around a corner only to coming up short when he saw Otabek there in the backstage corridor, leaning against the wall, a plastic water bottle hanging from his fingers.

"Congratulations, Yuri," Otabek smiled, but his brown eyes were appraising.

Yuri was shaking. "I couldn't beat his free skate score…"

There was nothing but impartial statement in Otabek's voice. "Your total score beat his."

Blond hair was tossed like a mane, white teeth snapping, baring. "Barely!" His blue eyes were wet and bloodthirsty.

Otabek unscrewed the cap to the plastic water bottle he was holding, lifting the bottle to his lips and letting the cool water ease the burn in his throat. "You also beat J.J."

Yuri choked on the howls he'd been stifling as laughter threw a coup for control of his lungs, before the sobs managed quell the rebellion and reasserted themselves again.

Otabek took another quaff of water.

Yuri had been beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.

But he'd screwed up a jump. Just one. But one was enough.

(In battle even a single mistake could kill you. One bullet— one misstep—and everything would be over for you.)

The tears drifted down like sparks from his flaming blue eyes, coruscating, and his face was red with the heat.

(Except that, even with the mistake, Yuri had still come out on top.)

"What the hell are ya staring at?!" The fists clenched at his sides trembled, knuckles white. "I'm not crying!"

(There was darkness in his gaze—the adrenalized horror and fury of someone who had only narrowly evaded death, the ghostly afterimages lingering even afterwards.)

Yuri clenched his eyes shut against the tears and scrubbed furiously at his face with his sleeve. "They can't see me like this… _pathetic…!_ "

Otabek lowered the water bottle from his lips and, reaching out, flipped the bottle over and dumped the rest of the water over Yuri's head.

" _Huuh?!"_ It was the roar of a tiger, Otabak's hand slapped away, the empty water bottle flying from his grip, the plastic crunching against the wall. "What the hell, Otabek?!"

The purposeful clicking of heels preceded Lilia Baranovskaya's appearance as she turned the corner, face tense, and Yuri whirled to look at her and pointed his finger accusingly at Otabek. "Otabek just dumped his water bottle over my head!"

Otabek met her strict green eyes with the same aplomb with which he skated. "Yuri looked like he needed to cool off."

Lilia looked back at Yuri, his blond hair dripping, his red face streaked with water, a burning light behind his eyes as he turned back to Otabek, his voice raising. "You didn't have to dump water over my head, you asshole!"

Otabek just shrugged and walked over to pick up the plastic watter bottle Yuri had knocked out of his hand, depositing it in the recycling bin.

Yuri whirled back around to Lilia, his eyes widening at her hard gaze.

"Yuri Plisetsky, apologize to him."

Her tone left no room for protest, but Yuri protested anyway. "Apologize to him?! Why do I have to be the one to apologize to him when he's the one who dumped water over my head?!"

Lilia turned on her heel and away down the hall. "I don't want to see you until you've cooled down and apologized to your friend, Yuri! And make sure not to use any more unattractive language!"

Yuri spluttered for a few moments, whirled around to glare at Otabek, and then covered his mouth and bent over slightly as he struggled not to start laughing.

Otabek watched him, the line of his lips relaxing, and flipped the plastic bottle-cap into the air, catching it again.

"Thanks, Otabek," Yuri said, when he straightened, wiping the water from his face with a sleeve.

"Sure thing," Otabek said.

"Here," Yuri said, taking the water bottle out of his backpack, unscrewing the lid and holding it out. "Since you gave me yours, you can have some of mine."

"It's okay—" Otabek started to say, before Yuri had lunged forward and flipped the bottle upside-down to dump the water over Otabek's head.

"Oi," Otabek said as the cold water drenched him, raising an arm to try to block the deluge.

"Heh," Yuri said, stepping back with the empty water bottle, grinning smugly. "Now we're even."

Otabek reached into his own backpack and pulled out a towel, beginning to dry his face and hair.

"Hey!" Yuri said, his eyes narrowing.

Otabek finished drying himself and then threw the towel at Yuri, hitting him in the face.

"Here," Otabek said belatedly, as Yuri yelled "Hey!" again and clawed the towel from his head, scowling.

"What the hell was that?!" Yuri demanded.

"You didn't appear to have a towel, so I'm letting you use mine," Otabek said. "Now we're even."

He shouldered his backpack and then walked past Yuri, following the path Lilia had taken minutes before.

"Hey!" Yuri yelled, whirling around to glower at his back. "What the hell was that, you smug jerk!"

Otabek, continuing to walk and without turning to look at him, gave a little wave of his hand, and Yuri roared like a jungle cat.

Otabek turned the corner, and Yuri just stood there for several moments.

Muttering angrily to himself, he began using the towel to dry his hair, but even as he cursed the Kazakh figure skater the corner of his lips were twitching upwards.

 **XXX**

Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier.

They were hardened eyes, unfaltering and unremitting, and his every look said: _I will do anything that needs to be done in order to win, and if you get in my way I will make you regret it for the rest of your miserable life._

And the ballet classes made it clear that Yuri had what it took to back up that threat.

The way Yuri moved was beautiful, but it was a hostile kind of beauty. The beauty of large jungle cats while hunting, all lithe flexibility and a feral strength that passed itself off as the gentlest of grace.

It was a beauty that showed no mercy. A beauty without humility. Without compromise. Without constraint. Without apology.

And Otabek remembered watching him and thinking: _I will never be able to do that, much less surpass him. So this is what I'm up against, huh?_

It was a dark and crushing realization, like a declaration of war, and it lit a flame of desperation in his chest. He _wanted_ to win Gold one day, to bring a Gold Medal back to Kazakhstan—and he _would,_ the determination he saw in Yuri's eyes the same as the one reverberating deep in his soul, a grim determination he'd never seen in anyone else _—_ but he would never be able to like this—not like _this,_ with ballet and a wild, deadly, dulcet grace.

He could not beat Yuri with the same weapons. He needed his own. He needed something the rest of the skaters didn't have.

And as Otabek left the camp with the plan to burn his ballet shoes already in his mind, he promised: _One day, Yuri, I will meet you where you are._

 **XXX**

Yuri was collapsed on the ice, the gold cross around his neck glinting in the hot red of the lights, and Otabek blew the imaginary smoke from the muzzle of his finger gun.

The audience rose en masse to their feet and _screamed._

Otabek pushed off from the wall and skated out onto the ice, lifting the Yuri's limp body over his shoulder and carrying his quasi-corpse from the rink, and the audience screamed even _louder._

(As soon as Otabek stepped off the ice and set Yuri unsteadily on his feet, he covered his mouth with a hand and started trembling, while Yuri collapsed right back to the floor in a fit of laughter which was lost amid the cheers.)

 **XXX**

After Yurio's exhibition skate Yuuri and Viktor turned to each other with identical grins lighting up their faces. "That was great!" "That was so Yurio!" "And did you see Otabek's influence in there?" "Yes! That was so great!" "Wasn't it? We have to go congratulate them!"

They found Yurio and Otabek waiting for them in the hall, standing shoulder to shoulder in their black pleather with darkness in their faces like the promise of war.

Viktor and Yuuri stopped short, their eyes widening.

Being in line of Yurio and Otabek's gazes was like staring down the barrel of a tank.

Yurio crossed his arms and leaning into Otabek as they both tilted up their chins, managing to somehow seem to look down on them, Otabek's hands resting insouciantly in his pockets and Yurio's eyes smeared with black and gleaming.

Yurio's lips curled into a sneer of a smirk. "What did you think of that, losers?!"

Viktor and Yuuri stared at them, blinked, and then turned to each other and broke out into huge grins. "They're so cute!" "They're perfect for each other!"

Yurio snarled, "Huhh?! What are you two geriatrics giggling about?!" while Otabek tilted his chin back further and regarded them with the utmost insolence.

Viktor and Yuuri turned back to them, grinning. "Congratulations, Yurio!" "We're so happy for you!"

"Huh?!" Yurio stared at them, his expression going blank for a moment, and then it darkened and twisted up in fury. "Whoever said I needed your congratulations?!" He pushed away from Otabek, snarled, "Keep your mushy grossness to yourselves and go cry about it!" and then turned on his heel and stalked off.

Otabek gave them one last audacious look and then strode after him.

Viktor had a finger pressed up against his lips, his eyes wide.

"Oops," Yuuri said, blinking. "I think we pissed Yurio off."

Viktor lowered his finger from his twitching lips. "He'll get over it."

Yuuri turned to him, lips pressed together in an attempt not to grin. "But did you see the way he and Otabek…?"

"I know right!" Viktor exclaimed, and he and Yuuri beamed and then had to cover their mouths to stifle the audible bubbling up of their glee.

 **XXX**

"Yuri," Otabek said.

Yuri pulled up short, his fists clenched. "Damn it, I hate them!"

Otabek regarded him impassively. "No you don't."

Yuri whirled around, his eyes flashing. "And who are you to tell me what I do or don't feel, huh?!"

Otabek remained unfazed. "You're bitching, Yuri."

Yuri opened his mouth, closed it, grit his teeth and looked away. "They piss me off," he muttered, nails biting into his palms. "That that Katsudon though he could just win gold and then retire—what a loser!" He swung back his foot and then drove it forward, kicking the wall in front of him. "And then Viktor fucking _crying on my shoulder_ about it!"

"That's why you were upset you barely beat Katsuki," Otabek realized.

"Yeah," Yuri said, and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. "And then they had the _nerve_ to skate together in the Katsudon's exhibition skate and be all fucking _happy_ about it, as if it wasn't just because that Katsudon didn't win gold…!" He sneered and whirled around, culminating the momentum of the turn by slamming the sole of his shoe into the wall again. "The fucking _idiots!"_

Yuri glared down at the ground, and Otabek stood there watching him, saying nothing.

After a moment Yuri pushed back his shoulders and tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "But we sure laid the audience flat out, right?"

"Yeah," Otabek said.

Yuri glanced over at him, then looked away again, strands of blond hair slipping from his loose half bun to fall into his face. "Thanks."

The lines of Otabek's face eased slightly. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Yuri looked over at him with black-smeared eyes and smiled. "Yeah."

 **XXX**

Otabek stepped outside, the _click_ of the glass door closing behind him lost amid the unceasing _pitterpatterpitterpatter_ of rain like machine-gun fire, pounding against the concrete, against the awning above his head, against the hoods of cars, and the gore-wet _shwushshwush_ of their tires rolling over the road.

Otabek held out a hand in front of him, extending beyond the reach of the awning. Cold wet drops splashed against his hand, and he watched the water shimmer as it slid over his skin to collect in the center of his palm.

He lifted his eyes to the dark street in front of him, the streetlights bleeding beneath the onslaught of rain, reflecting off the falling raindrops and rippling on the surface of puddles.

Otabek lowered his hand, exhaled through his nose, and stepped out into the rain, cold water pattering down on him as he walked, beginning to soak his hair, his suit, his tie, his socks already dampening from the water splashing up over his dress shoes.

"Hey, moron!"

Otabek paused and turned, seeing Yuri standing there in his dark blue suit beneath a black umbrella and glaring at him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Yuri's eyes flashed, and he tipped back the umbrella slightly as he tilted up his chin; the inside of the umbrella was leopard-print. "Get over here."

Otabek walked over, shoes splishing and rain trickling down his face. Yuri lifted the umbrella slightly and Otabek ducked beneath it.

"That's a cool umbrella," he said.

Yuri grinned. "Right?!" he exclaimed, and pushed the handle at him. "You're taller than me, so you hold it."

Otabek obligingly took the umbrella, starting to walk again, Yuri pressed closed beside him to stay out of the rain, their shoulders bumping.

"What did you sneak out here for, anyway?" Yuri asked. "The banquet isn't over yet." He kicked at a puddle, splashing it up over his dress shoe. " _Unfortunately._ "

"My coach's phone ran out of batteries so she was going to get her phone charger from her car," Otabek said. "I offered to get it for her." He pulled her car keys out of his pocket, holding them up, the metal clinking like dogtags.

Yuri's eyes followed the keys' movements like a cat's. "An excuse to get away for a bit, huh?" he said, and smirked. "Lucky."

"You're here too," Otabek pointed out, slipping the keys back into his pocket.

Yuri's smirk widened. "I'm capitalizing on your luck."

Otabek turned his eyes back to the street ahead of them, the dark water with its surface shimmering in the streetlights as it rushed along through the gutters. "Did you even let anyone know when you left?"

He felt more than saw Yuri shrug. "I yelled at Yakov when I saw you leaving that I had to make sure you didn't strand me in that hellhole all by myself, but I'm not sure if he actually heard me."

"Yuri," Otabek said. "You should be more considerate to the people who care about you."

Yuri snorted. "You're one to talk." He shoved Otabek in the arm, enough to make him stumble slightly, drops of water giving Yuri's suit dark spots like a cheetah. "You were going to abandon me there!"

"I was coming back," Otabek pointed out, stepping back beside him and shifting the umbrella so it covered them both.

Yuri tossed his mane of blond hair and looked at him defiantly. "Yeah, well, so am I."

Otabek stared at him, and then after a moment his lips quirked. "Fair enough."

Yuri smirked at him, and Otabek's lips quirked further as he turned his gaze back to the street, their shoes starting to make squelching noises as they were trudged relentlessly through puddles the two of them refused to step around.

The parking garage blotted out the bleeding city lights behind it.

"Hey, are you still pissed about it?" Yuri asked.

"About what?" Otabek asked.

"That it was my senior debut and I beat you."

Otabek looked over at him. "I'm not angry at you for winning, Yuri," he said. "You deserved the gold."

Yuri held his gaze, blue eyes achromatic in the rain-darkened city twilight. "Don't hold back on me, asshole."

Otabek looked back at the street. "I'm not angry at you, but I'm disappointed in myself. Even after these five years of training, I still haven't been able to catch up to you." He tilted the umbrella back just enough to stare past the leopard-print edge at the silver streaks of falling rain. "And J.J. beat me, too."

"And the Katsudon." It was muttered uttered Yuri's breath, more to himself than to Otabek.

"Yeah," Otabek said.

"So what then, huh?!" It was an accusation.

Otabek shifted his gaze back to Yuri's glinting eyes and straightened the umbrella.

Yuri was sneering. "You're going to be all bitchy about it and give up?!" He stepped out in front of Otabek, forcing him to stop. They were standing in the middle of a puddle and it was seeping through their shoes. "You gonna retire or some shit like that?!"

Otabek held his gaze. "I'm not Katsuki or Viktor, Yuri," he said undauntedly. "I don't surrender." His voice was imbued with weight, heavy with the same determination that had washed over him when he realized how far out of his league Yuri and the other Russian skaters had been.

They weren't quite so far away, now. He was almost there, and more determined than ever to get there.

Yuri's face relaxed, the glint of his eyes turning to a glitter, his sneer shifting into a smirk. "So then what are you gonna do, huh?"

"Keep training," Otabek said, holding his gaze. "Next time I'm going to stand on the podium right beside you, Yuri."

Yuri's smirk widened. "You better lay the audience flat out," he said, stepping forward and grabbing Otabek's tie to pull their faces closer together, eyes flashing blue in the beams of passing headlights. "That's the Otabek I most want to see."

Their socks were completely soaked through.

Otabek felt his lips curl. "Yeah."

 **XXX**

Nikolai Plisetsky's face was smiling through the screen of Yuri's cellphone, his eyes watery. "I'm so proud of you, Yuratchka."

Yuri smiled, and it was an expression without irony or posturing. "Thanks, Gramps. Also," his tone picked up with excitement, "there's someone important to me I want to introduce you to." He turned the phone slightly so his grandfather could see the Kazakh skater standing next to him. "Grandpa, this is my—"

He paused, turning his head to look at Otabek. "Hey, Otabek."

Otabek waved at Nikolai then looked at Yuri. "Yeah."

Yuri held his gaze. "Are you going to be my boyfriend or not?" His expression held neither fear nor hope nor expectation, just a straightforward request for clarification.

The lines of Otabek's face softened, his eyes smiling. "Yeah, I'll be your boyfriend."

Yuri's eyes lit up. "Cool." He turned back to the screen and slung an arm around Otabek's shoulders.

Otabek faced the screen as well, his hand coming up to rest over Yuri's over deltoid, and Yuri leaned into him.

"Grandpa," Yuri struggled to restrain his grin, felt himself losing, thought 'Screw it!', and let it loose over his face like a lion out of its cage, "this is my boyfriend, Otabek Altin."


End file.
